Perfekt Order (The Ære Saga Book 1) (7 page)

“Turn right up here.”

“I know where you are.” Tyr jogged the three
blocks to my house, and I tagged alongside him. He was probably
being nice to me because he felt bad about the other night, but I
didn’t care. It was good to have company.

Especially such attractive company.

“Here we are.” I stopped when we got to the
front of the little house. Tyr slowed next to me.

“It’s nice.” He kept his eyes on mine.

“Thanks for crashing my run. Even though you
were bossy about it.”

Tyr adjusted the hood of his sweatshirt with
a chuckle. “Do you run every day?”

“Most weekdays. I swim alternate days, and I
take weekends off.”

“That’s quite an exercise plan. You don’t do
anything halfway, do you?”

“I try not to,” I answered honestly.

“Hmm. Are you going to run in the forest
again?”

“I’m planning to.” The corners of my eyes
crinkled. “Unless a certain bossy-pants is thinking of interfering
with my trail run again.”

“It’s really not a good idea to take the
Woodside Trail,” Tyr stressed.

“So you mentioned.” I reached up to adjust my
ponytail. “Maybe you should come keep tabs on me again, to make
sure I follow your approved routes.”

Tyr’s eyes widened a smidge. A half-smile
broke out across his spectacular face as he took a step backwards.
“Maybe I should. Six-thirty Wednesday morning. This yard. I’ll be
the one in the hoodie.”

My breath hitched. Tyr wanted to see me
again. Was he just obsessively controlling and wanted to make sure
I did what he wanted? Or was he archaically chivalrous, and wanted
to make sure I didn’t get hurt? Or, and this was a big
or
,
did he actually want to spend time with me? I didn’t want to get my
hopes up unnecessarily, but if I had any chance at a shot with this
guy, I sure as the dickens didn’t want to miss it.

“I’ll be here,” I squeaked.

“Great. See you then.” Tyr opened his mouth
as if he wanted to say something more, but instead he turned on one
heel and raced down the street. He rounded the corner before I
could even say goodbye.

We were seriously going to have to work on
that boy’s manners.

MY FIRST OFFICIAL COLLEGE
class was
one of my general education classes—an Art History course called
World Myth in Art. According to the syllabus, we’d start the year
with northern European paintings. Though my knowledge of the art
world was practically nonexistent, I had Charlotte in class with
me. Between her parents’ gallery and her internship, Charlotte was
already an expert.

We slid into the front row just as class
began. Our professor was a pretty woman in her mid-thirties, with
light brown hair and eyes that lit up as she went over her
outline.

“Okay, class.” Professor Kopp looked up from
the podium and clicked her remote at the projector. “We’re starting
our semester with the art and artists of Scandinavia. The pieces in
this unit are based in Norse mythology, and while you don’t need to
have a comprehensive understanding of mythological hierarchy to
appreciate the art, it does help to have a basic overview. So let’s
go over some of the basics. Who’s familiar with Norse mythology?”
Arms shot up all over the room, including Charlotte’s.

“
Beyond
the
Thor
movie?”

Several kids dropped their raised hands.

“Okay. Scandinavia is made up of four of the
world’s northernmost countries, and that latitude results in long,
dark winters. Culturally this has translated to darker folk tales,
filled with terrifying monsters and heroic warriors. You’ll see
this reflected in the region’s artwork. For example, this.”

Professor Kopp clicked, and a new slide
popped up.

“
The Ride to Asgard
, by Peter Nicolai
Arbo. A Norwegian painter who lived from 1831 to 1892.”

“That’s dark,” Charlotte whispered, as she
clicked away on her laptop.

“No kidding.” I stared at the painting. A
herd of muddy brown horses ascended from a charred battlefield. The
animals and their riders were so monotone, they almost blended
together, save for a few blond female riders in the front line.
Some carried dead bodies over their mounts, while black birds that
looked like ravens swooped over the field. Artistically, it may
have been a masterpiece. But it wasn’t something I’d put out for
company. It positively reeked of despair.

“
The Ride to Asgard
depicts a group of
valkyries returning to Valhalla. Do those words mean anything to
anyone here?” Professor Kopp asked.

Charlotte stopped her fiendish typing to
raise her hand.

“Yes?” Professor Kopp nodded. “Miss…”

“Takayama. Charlotte Takayama,” my roommate
said.

“Go ahead, Miss Takayama.”

“Asgard is the home of the Norse gods and the
most revered of the nine realms of Norse mythology, on par with
Christianity’s version of Heaven. Odin is the head of Asgard.
Valkyries are Odin’s warrior goddesses. They fly winged horses over
Earth, and bring fallen soldiers back to a place called Valhalla.
It’s Odin’s personal hall, and it’s a massive structure big enough
to house hundreds of fighters. The valkyries train the fallen
soldiers to defend Asgard at Ragnarok, the mythological Norse
apocalypse.”

I blinked at Charlotte. Was all of that in
the reading?

“Very good.” Professor Kopp smiled. “So in
Peter Arbo’s painting, these warrior goddesses—valkyries—bring the
dead soldiers back to Asgard, the realm of the gods. Those who
lived dishonorably might go to Niflheim or Helheim—the Norse
equivalent of Hell. Interestingly, the Norse hell is a world of
primordial ice, which is reflected in many of the culture’s most
significant paintings. Now, Scandinavian paintings tend to idolize
the upper echelon of their pantheon—Odin the ruler; Thor, God of
Thunder; Freya, Goddess of Love; Loki, the Trickster. Ull, God of
Winter…”

“Speaking of Scandinavians, was that Tyr who
dropped you off at the crack of dawn this morning?” Charlotte
whispered. “A little early in the semester for the walk of shame,
though I have to admire your taste.”

“What? No!” I hissed. “He barged in on my
run, so we finished our workout together. That’s it.”

“Finished your workout together, eh?”
Charlotte snickered. “That’s what they called it at your prep
school?”

“Yeah, no. It really was just a workout. But
we’re running together again on Wednesday.”

“Really?” One of Charlotte’s perfectly
groomed eyebrows shot up. “Did he explain why he took off the other
night?”

“Not specifically.” I frowned.

“Well, maybe he will next time.” Charlotte
reached over and squeezed my hand. “That’s exciting.”

“I know. And kind of terrifying.” My stomach
was so jumpy after our encounter, I’d barely been able to scarf
down a piece of dry toast before class.

“It doesn’t have to be.” Charlotte kept her
voice low. She stared at our professor, typing as the teacher
spoke. When Professor Kopp paused to look through her textbook,
Charlotte turned to me. “Just try to have fun with it. You’re only
a freshman once.”

I bit back a smile. “You really need to meet
my brother.”

Professor Kopp brought up a new slide. “Now
as Charlotte said, the valkyries from Arbo’s painting were charged
with training humans to defend Asgard at Ragnarok, the final battle
between good and evil. Henry Fuseli depicted Ragnarok in
Thor
Fighting the World Serpent
. It ends badly for Thor the Thunder
God—Asgard and most of its residents are destroyed, and the world
is born anew. Notice the dark colors, the harsh lines, the feeling
of desolation Fuseli manages to convey in this painting?”

“All I’m seeing is a giant naked god,”
Charlotte whispered. My fingers grazed my lips, covering my
smile.

“Let’s finish up with one of my
favorites—Danish artist Lorenz Frölich’s
Tor og Loki
.
Created in the late 1800s, it shows Thor and the trickster god,
Loki, traveling in bridal regalia to a realm called Jotunheim to
recover Thor’s magical hammer, Mjölnir. One of Jotunheim’s frost
giants captured the hammer, and refused to give it back unless he
could have Freya, the Goddess of Love, as a bride. Freya refused,
so Thor and Loki put on dresses and rode Thor’s goat-driven chariot
down to the icy realm to reclaim Thor’s prize.” Professor Kopp
smiled at the image on the screen. “Who says Vikings didn’t have a
sense of humor?”

“I’m still thinking about the naked god.”
Charlotte leaned back in her seat.

“Okay, that’s it for today. Read ahead two
chapters, and we’ll dive into art depicting Muspelheim and
Jotunheim—realms of the fire and frost giants—during our next
class. You won’t want to miss it.”

I slid my notebook into my bag while
Charlotte powered down her laptop. When she zipped the computer
into its case, I stood. “Fire giants and frost giants? They had
some dark stories, didn’t they?”

“That’s only the beginning.” Charlotte shook
her head.

“How do you know about Norse mythology?” I
stepped out of the row and headed toward the classroom door.

“We did a unit on it in my AP class last
year. They have some particularly fun myths—and some disturbingly
strange ones.”

“You’ll have to fill me in.” We walked toward
the entrance of the humanities building. “My grandpa’s part
Norwegian but he never told me about the myths. And we only studied
the Greek ones at Tottenham.”

“Would you like to go over notes this week?
We can talk about the paintings from the reading, and I’ll tell you
the stories about the fire and frost giants.” Charlotte shuddered.
“Crazy stuff.”

“Sounds great.” I smiled. “I’ve got my Calc
II lecture this afternoon, but I’ll see you at home later.”

“Have fun.” Charlotte waved as she walked
toward the student union.

I did a little happy dance and headed to the
library to see if I could check out a text on Norse mythology. I
had no intention of being caught off guard in class, and
preparation begat excellence. My lips pulled back in a smile. This
experience was everything I’d worked for. I was officially a
college student. My first class was under my belt, and in a few
hours, I’d be attending my first lecture in my major. I might have
felt way out of my element with art and gods, but I’d be happy as a
clam in saltwater in a math class. Roman numerals and Greek
letters, cut-and-dry answers… I sighed. If everything about life
could be as simple as calculus, my world would be just perfect.

****

“
Hei hei
everybody.” The voice sounded
familiar. I glanced at the back of the Calc II discussion room on
Tuesday morning, and saw Brynn’s friend Henrik walking up the
aisle. He threw his backpack on the table at the front and
scribbled his name on the whiteboard in a hasty scrawl. “I’m Henrik
Andersson. I’m a grad student in the Biomechanical Engineering
department, and I’ll be your TA for our breakout section this
semester. This is my e-mail address, and these are my office hours.
Use them.”

To my right, Brynn was positively bursting
with excitement.

“Did you know he was the TA for our section?”
I whispered.

“Yes,” she whispered back. Her freshly
painted purple nails dug into her forearms where she squeezed
herself, quite possibly to keep from bouncing up and down.

That explained the makeup and fake lashes.
And the extra spray of vanilla perfume… or three. I covered my
grin. There was always looking your best, and then there was this.
Brynn might not be allowed to date, but her massive crush was cute
as a bug’s ear.

“Now who was confused by Professor Antosie’s
lecture yesterday?” Henrik looked around the room. “Nobody? You all
understood everything he said in your first class?”

I glanced at the students to my left, but
they all stared at Henrik. Rule number one of Math Club: Don’t tell
anyone you’re confused about Math Club.

“
Perfekt
. Then I’m sure you’ll all
sign up to be my lab assistants. Two open spots. One unit of
elective credit. For my thesis project, I’m developing a robotic
arm that operates intuitively by reading brainwaves projected via
electrodes. The goal is for the prototype to function as a
prosthetic.” Henrik leaned against the board and crossed his arms.
“Let’s work some hypotheticals so I can see who’s got the right
stuff. Sound fun?”

Brynn squirmed in her seat next to me, and
several students nodded enthusiastically. Freshmen weren’t usually
given access to research projects, so Henrik’s project would have a
lot of applications—mine included.

We worked through the hour, and passed our
notes to the front of the class when the time was up. A handful of
students filed out of the room, but the rest of us stayed behind.
When Henrik turned from erasing the whiteboard, he treated us to a
big grin.

“So you’re the fun ones.” He chuckled. “You
guys have resumes?”

I nodded. Brynn stared raptly at Henrik.

“Great. E-mail them to me this week, and I’ll
post the names of my new lab assistants when I make a decision. And
feel free to get in touch if you get stuck on the homework.”

The remaining students started to shuffle out
of the room, so I nudged the frozen Brynn with my toe. “You
coming?”

“Hmm? Oh, sure!” She scooped up her backpack
and skipped to the front of the class. “Bye, Henrik.”

Henrik adjusted his glasses. “You down for
dinner next week? I’m going to make my mom’s chicken picatta, and
try out that chocolate bombe recipe from the cookbook you gave me
last St. Lucia’s Day.”

“I wouldn’t miss it.” Brynn sighed.

Henrik turned to me. “You should come too. Do
you like chocolate?”

“Who doesn’t like chocolate?” I slung my bag
over my shoulder as I stood.